


Up Close and Personal

by ilikeyouxactually



Series: Strung Together By Fate (A collection of Coliver works) [10]
Category: How to Get Away with Murder
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Cats, Artist Connor, Fluff, M/M, Makeup, Musicals, Performer Oliver, Tooth-Rotting Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-12
Updated: 2015-03-12
Packaged: 2018-03-17 12:35:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,013
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3529649
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ilikeyouxactually/pseuds/ilikeyouxactually
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Connor is a makeup artist for a theater company that is doing Cats. Connor is graced with sitting in close proximity to Oliver's face for up to thirty minutes at a time. It gets pretty difficult at times.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Up Close and Personal

**Author's Note:**

> Received as a prompt on tumblr. For one of them being a performer who has really elaborate stage makeup that requires a lot of time and effort into putting on, and it is hard to be so close to this person for such a long time. 
> 
> Follow me on [tumblr](http://ilikeyouxactually.tumblr.com).

Landing the job of makeup artist for the Broadway musical Cats was perhaps the greatest thing that could have ever happened to Connor. Ever since he was a kid, Cats was always his favorite musical. He would study the songs and choreography, reenact them, and every year for Halloween, he always went all out and did Cats makeup on himself. It was his most favorite thing in the world, and to be so immersed in it like this for months at a time was complete heaven. He could do characters’ makeup and listen to and watch the performers sing and dance. It was truly amazing. But his favorite part was the makeup. Helping people transform completely into a character was always like magic. 

Doing this brought him a lot closer with the cast. He would sit down with people for sometimes thirty—sometimes more—minutes at a time, just applying makeup. But Connor always got so immersed in it. Studying the actors’ faces, and the characters that they became. It was incredible to witness, and be the one to create that transformation. That was why he went to theater school. Not just to study theater and varying types of performance, but to also study makeup and makeup application. 

Arts were always his _thing_. Drawing, painting, acting, dancing, singing—all of it. Granted he wasn’t very good at all of it, but it was the things he could create with his hands that he loved. Drawing, painting, makeup. He took pride in the things he could create, because everything he made was treated like a work of art. Even if it was just paint on a persons face. But to him, it wasn’t just paint on someone’s face. They became his canvas. And he would drag his brush in skillful strokes, dab on colors, blend, and work at it until he was left with a final creation that was a true piece of art that he could look at and say, _“I created this.”_

As of late, one of the other makeup artists had to take a sick leave, leaving Connor taking on another actor to do makeup for—Oliver Hampton. They had talked periodically, gotten coffee with the rest of the company even, but never really got to know one another. And Connor never really noticed how _remarkable_ of a face Oliver had, until he had sat directly in front of him for a solid half an hour, _examining_ him. The first time, it was totally overwhelming, and Connor might have gotten choked up afterwards when he saw the makeup completed, but he would never admit to it. After that, it only got harder to stay focused each and every time he did Oliver’s makeup. Even when Oliver’s original makeup artist came back from her sick leave, Oliver continued to ask Connor to do his makeup; claiming that Connor did it “better.” And maybe he did do it better, but he sure as hell wasn’t complaining. 

Tonight was no different from any other night. Connor had just finished up the makeup of his assigned actors, when Oliver approached him, sheepish and nervous as ever. God, Connor would never get used to this man and the way he looked at Connor as if he were the goddamn sun. 

And Oliver couldn’t get used to him either. Having Connor in such close proximity, making his heart race and pound for every single one of those thirty minutes that Connor was sat in front of him. Oliver eventually began memorizing Connor’s face as well. The way his rich mahogany orbs would scan him, his brows more often than not knit together, and lips ever so slightly parted. His tongue would sometimes drag over his lower lip, the action would make Oliver squirm and shake helplessly in his seat. Connor would scold him, telling him he needed to stay still. But really, how _could_ Oliver stay still when he had this work of art sitting so close to him, his face just _inches_ away from his own. And don’t even get him started on how when Connor was really focused, and his mouth hung open, his warm breath would gently sweep over Oliver’s cheeks. It was torture. Yet, Oliver just couldn’t seem to stay away from Connor, no matter how hard he tried. He wasn’t trying that hard.

“Hey, Connor, do you think you could do my makeup?” The words rang through Connor’s ears like delicate silver bells chiming on Christmas morning. He merely nodded in response, pulling a stool in front of the chair Oliver was instructed to sit in. Connor gathered up his makeup, brushes, and sketch of Oliver’s makeup. Oliver’s regular makeup artist was supposed to have the picture in their folder of actors they needed to do makeup for, but Connor had managed to become Oliver’s regular artist.

Connor tentatively sat down, pulling out the sketch to lay it out in front of him. He didn’t really need it though. He had it memorized by the third time he did Oliver’s makeup; but he refused to admit it when he still needed to use the reference for every other actor he was assigned to. 

Their faces were already so close already, and the painting hadn’t even started yet. Connor usually had to take several deep breaths before being able to start. And it was the same tonight. As he glanced up, his and Oliver’s gazes met. It was like the first time they _really_ stared at one another. Oliver’s eyes were like dark chocolate pools, speckled with flecks of hazelnut that Connor wanted to swim and drown in at the same time, and somehow managed to accomplish both without even knowing how. A quick breath hitched, making his chest tighten as Oliver only stared back at him. 

“Right… well, just relax, and let’s get started.” Connor replied coolly, picking up a makeup sponge to smooth white over Oliver’s face. The base was always the easiest—pure white. That was fine because Connor could just focus on evening out the pasty color over Oliver’s skin. The worst was doing Oliver’s neck. He’d have to softly ask Oliver to lift his head, his voice always _far_ too husky for the predicament, making him mentally kick himself. As quickly as he could, Connor would drag the white over Oliver’s neck, down his Adam’s apple; focusing so hard on not letting his own face turn bright red, as if a blusher had been smeared all over his cheeks, neck and ears from embarrassment. 

It was doing the details that was always the hardest. Because then Connor would be forced to really _examine_ Oliver’s perfect face. His stomach fell as he decided to do larger coloring, and save the detailing—the best part—for last. He picked up some dark and light gray on the sponge, dabbing it carefully over the outline of Oliver’s face, focusing the gray mostly on the sides by his ears. Connor did his best to ignore the fluttering of his stomach, wanting to get the makeup done as soon as possible while still doing his best work. Briefly glancing down at the sketch, he looked back up to Oliver; at least wanting to appear like he didn’t have his makeup memorized. 

And lastly, was the detailing. Connor wanted to both cringe and cry tears of happiness. Being able to stare so intently at Oliver’s face was a true experience that he was grateful to relive so often. The thin paintbrush rested softly, and firmly in between Connor’s fingertips as the brush dragged in specific, deliberate, patterns over Oliver’s face. Thick lines of black came rolling in over Oliver’s cheeks from the side like ocean waves. Tumbling and crashing, pulling Connor back in, only to be consumed under them—dragging Connor down so deep he can’t make it back up to the surface to catch his breath. He repeats the action on the other side, dragging the black over Oliver’s cheeks, coming into soft points as the strokes moved inwards. Connor’s eyes flickered to Oliver’s mouth for the slightest second, his heart pounding. No, he would save the lips for last. He always did—and Oliver knew that. 

A smaller brush worked on Oliver’s eyebrows, filling them in a dark black, sweeping upwards in a few spots towards the ends. This was good. It was good to stare intently at eyebrows. Eyebrows weren’t distracting at all. Nope. But the eyes just beneath the eyebrows were so tantalizing, and Connor _knew_ he had to work on those next. Thankfully, the eye makeup wasn’t too intense. Just some basic eyeliner, and careful swipes of black moving in towards his nose from the inner corners of Oliver’s eyes. It was perfect for the cat effect. And soon enough, Oliver was becoming unrecognizable under all the makeup. The only tell tale sign were those eyes; the eyes that Connor dreamed of getting lost in every single night. 

He couldn’t help but cough softly under his breath one more time as he picked up a thinner brush for the nose and lips. The nose was the easiest part to paint. Connor’s gaze dragged down slowly over the bridge of Oliver’s nose, his breath turning shallow as he thought of Oliver’s lips. A cat’s nose was carefully brushed on, a few dots added precisely just beyond Oliver’s nostrils. And now was the time for those lips. Connor allowed himself to stare for a few moments. It was normal for makeup artists to stare at the face. He had been taught that in college. It was a helpful technique used to help the artist visualize the finished work of art, and also to plan ahead for their next moves. So he rewarded himself by staring at Oliver’s perfect mouth. Eyes raked carefully and slowly over Oliver’s Cupid’s bow lips—so plump and soft looking it nearly made Connor cringe.

A shaky hand dipped the tip of the brush in the black before leaning in significantly closer. The amount of concentration the lips took was agonizingly annoying. Connor sucked in his lower lip, worrying it carefully between his teeth. His brows pulled together, his eyes so strongly focused on keeping his hand steady. “Can you part your lips just a bit?” Connor spoke softly, and for once he was grateful for the close proximity. Being so close would have made it harder for Oliver to see his flushed cheeks. He dragged the brush over Oliver’s lips, his body turning warm with every pull of the brush. Some times Oliver's lip would drag with the brush, exposing his pearly teeth. But Connor always pretended to not notice. Finally, he added the finishing touches once the entire face was complete. Sitting back in his stool, his eyes raked over Oliver’s face; both soaking in his perfection, and seeking any imperfections of the makeup. He let out a content sigh; Oliver looked amazing—as usual. “Well, you’re finished, Ollie.” He teased. Most of the cast mates called him that, so surely it was okay for Connor to call him that as well, right?

Oliver backed out of the chair, quickly turning to examine himself in the mirror. His eyes flicked to the side, where Connor’s reflection was visible right beside him—caught staring. Connor’s cheeks flushed, quickly averting his gaze as he pushed off the stool, and started wiping the makeup from his hands. Hopefully Oliver hadn’t noticed his staring. It was one thing to stare at someone while applying their makeup, but afterwards? Not so much.

“Thanks for doing my makeup—again—Connor.” Oliver said quickly as he dashed off to get his hairpiece and costume. Connor shook his head slowly, leaning forward on the counter. God, did he need to get it together. Before he could leave the room, the pitter-pattering of feet came dashing down the hallway, nearly bumping into him—it was Oliver. “Oh, hi… I—I was wondering if you wanted to get coffee sometime? Just us.” A wide smile spread over Connor’s face. Yeah, he could definitely do this.


End file.
